HP: Night of the Wolf

Late January 1972

Living life as she had these past months made Eleanor feel like she had returned to those years of discontent during the 1940s and Grindelwald's uprising.

Times had been different then.

She had been much younger and more vibrant, and excited to see what the future would bring.

A part of her had always hoped she would find someone like Harry Evans, a man of mystery that would keep her intrigued, but she had never let her desires make her bitter.

Harry and even the woman he had chosen had come to be among those Eleanor considered her greatest friends, and though her own marriage had ultimately failed, she had still been gifted three wonderful children.

Perhaps she was merely destined to be alone?

She had always been too much of a free-spirit, never able to shift the need of adventure, and that was partly why she found herself in Britain, still chasing thrills, and once more helping her friend.

Eleanor had begun her latest journey at Malfoy Manor, but it became quickly evident that Tom Riddle was not hiding here, nor had he been with Lords Rosier or Nott.

Each of the stately homes had taken weeks to search thoroughly before she had moved on to her next suspect, eventually arriving at Lestrange Manor.

Immediately, she sensed something different about this place, different but somewhat familiar also.

It was the magic of the protections here.

The older, powerful magic the pureblood families of Britain relied on to keep their properties safe was still prevalent but encapsulating them in a newer layer was magic not too unlike Harry's.

Riddle was a parselmouth, and Eleanor had no doubt that was what she was feeling.

She had tentatively ventured into the home a number of days ago and had slowly but surely made her way towards where the presence was strongest.

Sequestered in an isolated corner of the house, hidden behind a bookshelf of all places, she found where Tom Riddle was hiding, his lodgings as lavish as could be.

With almost serpent-like red eyes and pale, waxy skin, Eleanor had never seen such a man, nor had she felt so uneasy.

She had watched him closely, the comings and goings of others who came to visit him, and there was no denying the man was quite unhinged.

Often, he would talk to himself, speak his thoughts aloud as though he was conversing with another, and took no small amount of joy in torturing his followers who brought him unwelcome news.

They feared him, and rightly so.

There was no denying that he was a powerful wizard, but it was the insanity that plagued him that made him truly frightening.

How had he come to be so?

Eleanor knew not, but as more than a few dozen cloaked, and masked men entered the room, she was pulled from her thoughts.

They assembled around a large table that Riddle had conjured, and the man leered at them before shaking his head.

"I find myself…disappointed," he began in little more than a whisper. "Before me sits more than a millennium of magical knowledge, descendants of great men and women who shaped this country, and it seems to me that the era of the purebloods could soon come to an end."

"My Lord?" one of the masked figures asked.

"I came here to lead you, to remind those beneath us of the might that we wield, but it appears that only my heart is truly in the cause, that it is only me that cares about the legacies of our forefathers. Is this the truth or am I mistaken?"

"You are mistaken, my lord," one of the men said harshly, eliciting murmurs of agreements from the others.

"Then why is it we are failing?" Voldemort questioned. "Why is it that when we are faced by those beneath us, we balk and cower from them?"

"We do not cower, my lord. We are following your orders!"

Voldemort nodded as a smirk tugged at his lips.

"And you have done so admirably," he praised, "but now it is time to truly show them the enemy they face. No longer will we flee, not when we have no reason to. Why flee when we can send them scurrying like the vermin they are?"

"How?"

"By taking their richest prize from them," Voldemort declared. "We take away their base of power, and we seize control where it truly matters. The skirmishes in the street were nothing but a warning. Our true goal is to take the Ministry."

"The Ministry?"

Voldemort nodded; the smile he gave truly unnerving.

"We take the Ministry, we take the country," he pointed out.

"That will not be easy, my lord," one of the men replied.

"No, but it is necessary," Voldemort countered. "We will move on the Ministry in a week. Abraxus, I would like for the Minister to be there. Her capture will be paramount to our success."

"Yes, my lord," Malfoy complied with a nod.

"What of Evans?"

"Before Evans can respond, the Ministry will be ours," Voldemort declared gleefully. "When our new order commences, Evans will be the hunted enemy of the entirety of Britain. He and all that carry his name will be wiped from the face of the earth."

If Eleanor were not in her spider form, she would have rolled her eyes at the man for his foolish belief that Harry would be killed so easily.

Riddle truly was delusional, but she had finally gotten what she had been searching for.

Riddle would be at the Ministry to take it, and it would be the perfect opportunity for Harry to exact the vengeance he had desired for almost five decades.

With that in mind, she began scurrying out of the room to inform her friend of her discovery.

Had she not been here, Riddle would have quite possibly been successful in his coup, but with around a week to plan, Eleanor had no doubt that Harry would find a way to turn the situation to his advantage.

(Break)

Jasmine tapped the top of the table she was seated at impatiently with a finger as she watched her sisters scratching away, filling out some paperwork for the Head of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures.

She had arrived an hour ago and was refusing to leave until they accompanied her to visit their father, and both knew that she was stubborn enough to wait all night if necessary.

Many would assume she had inherited that trait from her father who was known for it, but Jasmine knew better.

Minerva Evans was much more stubborn, and she had certainly followed in her mother's footsteps.

"Will you stop with the tapping!" Iris snapped irritably.

Jasmine merely smiled sweetly at her sister as she continued.

Even in their later twenties, the twins were almost impossible to tell apart, and only someone who had grown up with them could do so.

When they had been younger, they had tried many times tricking their parents, and occasionally managed it with their mother.

Their father on the other hand could not be fooled.

Harry Evans could be blindfolded and know which one of his twins he was speaking with.

"Alright, we're coming!" Dahlia huffed as she rolled up she of parchment and tapped it with her wand, sealing it with the official Ministry stamp.

Jasmine found it quite ironic that both women were very official in their ways, doing their job to the letter of the description.

If only their boss knew of the plethora of illegal creatures they kept at their house…

The thought brought a smirk to her lips.

Jasmine had always been more similar to her mother, but the twins had a mischievous streak, just like the man that had sired them.

Oh, they attempted to conceal it beneath a veneer of respectability, but the Evans twins were not innocent, not by a long shot.

Jasmine had travelled extensively with them for a number of years and was in on most of their secrets because of it.

Still, that didn't mean she would let anything pass if it was important, and this was one of those.

Ever since the revelation that their father was a time traveller, they had not discussed it with him.

Jasmine knew that just about everyone else had, but not the twins.

For reasons unbeknownst to her, they had not broached the subject, and as much as he wouldn't admit it, she knew their father was hurt by their seemingly dismissive attitude towards it.

It was a secret he had carried for most of his life, after all, something that had shaped him into the man he was.

Jasmine had discussed it with him, and though his story had been an awful one to hear, she felt that she now understood his rather odd ways, his protectiveness, and that ruthlessness he possessed.

All had become a necessity for Harry Evans.

"Why do we need to talk about it?" Iris sighed. "Don't you think Dad has spoken about it enough by now?"

"Not with you two," Jasmine pointed out. "Please, you know how much it will mean to him."

Iris's irritated expression softened as she and her sister nodded simultaneously.

"We can't keep avoiding it," Dahlia murmured.

"No," Iris agreed.

"Why have you been avoiding it?" Jasmine pressed.

Both women deflated.

"It's not going to be a happy story, is it?" Dahlia replied sadly. "I know Dad is, well, he's Dad, but…"

"Hearing everything he went through, I don't know if I can do that. You saw his face when he came back from the basement on Christmas Day. He was broken. I don't want to see him like that."

Jasmine nodded her understanding.

"I thought the same until I heard it," she admitted. "He's such a sweet man, and knowing what he went through is heart-breaking, but you should still hear it. You'll understand him better."

The twins shared a look before nodding.

"Alright," they agreed simultaneously. "We will hear what he has to say."

Jasmine beamed at her sisters as she stood.

"Come on then, he'll still be at the school," she urged. "What, you thought that I was just going to leave? I want to see him too."

"Daddy's girl," Iris mocked.

Jasmine raised an eyebrow at the woman.

"If I remember correctly, you two used to follow him around like lost puppies."

"He's our dad!" Dahlia defended.

Iris nodded firmly and Jasmine snorted.

"Then speak to him," she said pointedly. "He deserves that, doesn't he?"

"We've already said we'll come," Dahlia grumbled. "Lead the way, Jazzykins."

Jasmine's nostrils flared at the hated moniker the twins had given her when she was still a baby but did not rise to the bait.

With a shake of her head, she threw some floo powder in the fireplace and waited for the flames to turn the familiar emerald colour.

"Hogwarts, Defence Against the Dark Arts. Family Ties," she finished with a hiss before stepping through.

Her father had set up the rather genius means of getting into the school should they need to, a method reserved for the Evans siblings, all of whom had inherited his talent.

The man himself was seated behind his desk, marking work from the students, a frown creasing his brow.

However, when he spotted his daughter, his countenance brightened considerably, and he crossed the room to greet her.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, wrapping his arms around her.

Jasmine melted into the embrace, never failing to feel like the same little girl that sat on his knee as he read her stories as a child.

She may have been closer to her mother, but it was her father who had always made her feel safe.

"You have a couple of other visitors coming," she informed the man who frowned confusedly, his eyes positively twinkling as the twins arrived only a moment later.

"Hello Dad," Iris almost whispered, nudging Jasmine aside to take her place.

Dahlia joined her and Jasmine could only look on and revel in the sheer joy of her father being visited by three of his daughters.

"What brings you two here?" he asked. "Have you gotten yourself in trouble again?" he chuckled.

"Dad, you know we would never do anything to get in trouble," Dahlia pouted.

Iris nodded, but their father wasn't falling for the innocent act.

He never had, and he wouldn't start now.

"Fine," Iris huffed. "We wanted you to tell us about what happened before you came here, if it isn't too much trouble?"

Their father nodded, and the twins held hands as they looked at him expectantly, something they always did when they were either nervous or upset.

Jasmine listened as raptly whilst her father spoke as she had the first time she heard it, and despite knowing what was coming, she felt a lump form in her throat.

"What happened to them, everyone you knew?" Iris asked emotionally.

Their father shrugged.

"I don't know," he answered honestly. "Hermione could well have died from the curse she was hit with, but here, she hasn't even been born yet."

"Won't it be strange to see them again?" Dahlia questioned thoughtfully. "If you stay here, you'll see them, won't you?

Their father chuckled.

"I will be an old man by then," he pointed out. "Maybe I won't be here, you never know what life will throw at you. That's the one thing I have learned above anything else."

"Don't say that!" Dahlia said angrily. "You're not allowed to go anywhere."

"You promised us you will always protect us, you can't go back on that," Iris added.

Their father held up a hand to placate them.

"I'm not going anywhere," he assured them. "No matter what, you will always have my protection, all of you."

Both Iris and Dahlia hugged him tightly once more, and Jasmine joined them knowing she had made the right choice in bringing them here.

She had no doubt that they loved their father deeply, so much so that they couldn't even face seeing him pain, and not realising he was already hurting.

For two very bright witches, they could be idiots at times, but that was why they had Jasmine.

She may be the youngest of the bunch, but the others listened to her.

Jasmine never really gave them much choice in the matter, a thought that amused her to no end, though she felt none as Eleanor Summerbee burst from the fireplace.

Her expression was a mix of glee and concern, and if something had the latter effect on the woman, Jasmine knew she brought grave news.

"I've found him," she declared.

"Where?" her father demanded. His demeanour having shifted immediately.

"He's at Lestrange Manor."

Her father's nostrils flared as he began walking to the door but was held back by his long-time friend.

"You don't need to go to him, Harry. He's going to attempt to take the Ministry in a week's time."

The man frowned as he paused.

"Tell me everything," he instructed, and Jasmine shared a look of worry with her sisters.

None of them had been born before the last war had finished, but none were foolish enough to believe anything other than the fact that their father was once more planning on fighting; to the death if necessary.

(Break)

Albus had always known that Tom was arrogant but placing the cup that had been created by Helga Hufflepuff in the home of his muggle family was downright sickening, and egotistical, an utter insult to those that had perished due to his actions.

The protections around the Riddle family home were much more extensive than the ones in the cave where he had found the locket, but once more, Tom had overestimated his abilities, or underestimated every other person that may have happened upon his Horcrux.

Albus couldn't be certain which, but it mattered not.

He had secured another one of the man's abominations.

Singularly, the Horcruxes were powerful items, alluring to those of a weaker mind or disposition, but Albus would not be compromised by the magic.

Possessing two of the items, however, was challenging.

He had no urge to allow them to take hold of him, but they made him feel unclean, the taint of the vile creations seemingly seeping into his very being.

They would need to be destroyed, and soon.

Placing the two items in separate boxes and sealing them with a wave of his wand, he leaned back in his chair and rubbed his eyes tiredly.

The Horcruxes were draining, choosing to feed off the ambient magic around them.

"Albus?"

"Everard, what can I do for you?"

"Barnabus has informed me that there is a student on the seventh floor," the portrait replied. "You asked for him to keep an eye on the hidden room."

Albus nodded as he stood.

The revelation of the hidden room had been quite the surprise to the headmaster when Helena had shown him it.

Albus had believed that the room full of chamber pots he had discovered many years prior had been little more than a dream, but he knew better now.

"Who is the student?" he asked.

"Mr Lestrange of Slytherin."

With a nod of thanks, Albus hurried from the room and headed towards the seventh floor.

He had expected that Tom, having made use of the room for several years during his time at Hogwarts, may attempt to place one of his Horcruxes there.

There was no safer place than Hogwarts, after all.

As he ascended the steps to the seventh floor, Albus cast a disillusionment charm over himself and entered the corridor to find it empty.

Rudolphus must have accessed the room before he could arrive.

With a gentle sigh, Albus waited, startling when a door began to form in the wall of the corridor only a few moments later.

Peering out into the hallway cautiously, Rudolphus exited the Room of Requirement, only to yelp as Albus appeared in front of him.

"It would be unwise to reach for your wand," the headmaster warned, his already pointed at the boy. "Now, you will retrieve what you just placed in there and bring it to me."

Rudolphus leered.

"No, I don't think I will," he replied defiantly.

"Do not be a fool, Mr Lestrange. I am giving you the opportunity to not make this any worse for yourself," Albus explained patiently. "Do you even know what it was you were tasked with placing within a school full of children?"

Rudolphus shrugged.

"I was just doing as I was instructed. The Dark Lord does not need to explain himself to me."

Albus shook his head.

"The item that you brought into the school is exceptionally dangerous, and if you were to be caught with it would see you spend the rest of your days in Azkaban."

Rudolphus snorted.

"I won't be going to Azkaban," he said confidently, "and you don't have the guts to hurt me. You're a coward, Dumbledore."

Foolishly, the boy reached for his wand, only to be blasted off his feet by the much faster and more powerful headmaster.

Rudolphus skidded down the corridor, and before he could even begin gaining his footing, found himself bound in thick ropes, bereft of his wand.

"You should have given it to me when you had the chance," Albus sighed as he approached the boy, pausing as Harry appeared in gout of golden fire.

It was a remarkable entrance, and Rudolphus paled noticeably at the arrival.

"I should have known you would be monitoring the corridor," Albus chuckled amusedly.

Harry nodded.

"I would have been here sooner, but something rather important has come up," he explained. "So, Tom chose you to bring it for him, did he? Well, now you will give it to me."

"I will not!" Rudolphus spat.

Harry leaned over the boy and glared at him.

"Professor Dumbledore may have been kind enough to leave your limbs intact, Lestrange, but I am not him," he whispered dangerously. "You will either show me where it is, or I will begin sending pieces of you to your father in the post. Do I make myself clear?"

"You wouldn't dare," Lestrange bit back uneasily.

"We will see about that," Harry replied as he drew his wand. "I think I'll take a few fingers first."

"NO!" Rudolphus pleaded as Harry levelled his wand at him. "Please, no."

Harry hummed thoughtfully.

"So, you will fetch it for me?"

Reluctantly, Lestrange nodded, and Harry dragged him to his feet.

"Open the room," he instructed after removing the bindings.

Rudolphus did so, and Harry prodded him forwards, urging him to lead the way.

The room where Albus found himself was unfamiliar, but it appeared Harry had been here before as he showed no sign of surprise at all of the discarded items within.

Almost fearfully, Rudolphus led them through the labyrinth of stacked furniture and came to a stop as he reached a large cabinet after a few minutes.

"It's in there," he said sulkily.

With a wave of his wand, Harry opened the door, and resting upon an old velvet cushion was the lost diadem of Rowena Ravenclaw.

The wave of magic that rolled over them made Albus shudder.

The diadem was undoubtedly a Horcrux and would have to be destroyed, along with Hufflepuff's cup and Slytherin's locket.

Carefully, Harry levitated the jewelled tiara out of the cabinet and placed it in a bag before pocketing it.

"Come on," he instructed, prodding Lestrange with his wand.

The trio left the room in silence, and Albus led the way to his office, wondering just what to do with his student.

He had never had to expel anyone before, and though it was not a thought he was relishing, he could see no other choice.

"What's going to happen to me?" Lestrange asked as they entered.

The young man was nervous now, the seriousness of what he'd done finally settling in.

Not that he was remorseful.

He was merely regretting that he had been caught.

"Well," Albus sighed. "In light of the nature of the matter, the danger posed to other students, and willingly being in possession of a highly illegal artefact, I believe I have no other alternative but…"

"Wait, Albus," Harry broke in.

The headmaster frowned as the man gestured for him to step aside for a private conversation.

"We cannot let him be released nor can we hand him over to the Ministry," Harry whispered urgently. "Crouch's son is either one of them or is on his way to joining. We can't risk this getting out, especially with what I learned today."

"What did you learn?"

"He's going to attempt to take the Ministry within the week," Harry explained.

Albus swallowed deeply, his heart sinking into his stomach.

"Are you certain?"

Harry nodded gravely.

"He's staying with the Lestranges, and Summerbee has been watching."

Albus released a deep breath.

"What will we do?"

"I already have a plan in action," Harry informed him. "Let me handle Lestrange, just worry about the Horcruxes."

"I have three of them," Albus revealed, leaving Harry taken aback.

"You have?"

Albus nodded.

"Locket, cup, and diadem," he reeled off. "I will explain how and where I found them when it is more convenient."

"Bloody hell, not bad, Albus," Harry praised.

"You did mention how important it was, but what about the last one we know of?"

"Leave that to me," Harry murmured. "I think Crouch would be better served making use of the attempted raid on the Ministry to carry one out of his own."

Albus frowned confusedly, but Harry had discussed all he wished to and once more turned his attention back to the waiting Rudolphus.

"By rights, I should hand you over to the Ministry where you would rot in Azkaban for what you have done, but what happens next depends on how helpful you are to me."

"What do you mean?" Lestrange queried.

"Was anyone else given an item?"

Rudolphus swallowed deeply before nodding.

"Lucius," he sighed. "He was called to see the Dark Lord the same time I was. He came out with a book, but he didn't bring it here."

Harry held up a hand to silence the seventh year.

"You are lucky that you did not lie to me," he cut in. "For that, I will do you the favour of not going to Azkaban today."

Rudolphus breathed a sigh of relief.

"But you cannot remain here, and you will not be allowed to go free," Harry continued.

"Where will I go?"

Harry did not answer immediately but withdrew a coin and began tapping it with his wand.

"Evans, where are you sending me?" Rudolphus pressed a moment later when Harry still didn't answer.

"Somewhere fitting," Harry responded. "You'll be spared the Dementors, but you may wish you were with them. You picked the wrong side, Lestrange, but don't worry, you'll be back in England soon enough."

"Who did you send for, Harry?" Albus questioned concernedly.

"You'll see," Harry responded, his eyes not leaving the teen.

The experience would either show Rudolphus the error of his ways, or it would break him.

To Harry, either outcome would be satisfactory.

"Ah, here he comes now."

A knock on the door sounded.

"Come in," Albus called.

The man that entered was one who Harry was very familiar with, one he considered to be among his closest friends.

"Harry!" the Russian greeted him enthusiastically, pulling him into a tight embrace. "You sent for me?"

Harry smiled warmly.

Petr was almost the double of his father, the elder of the two enjoying his well-deserved retirement.

"I need you to take this young man into your custody for a week or so," Harry explained.

"No problem," Petr replied immediately, shooting a glance at Lestrange. "What kind of custody?" he added quietly.

"I think some work in the mines would do him some good," Harry mused aloud. "No magic, of course."

Petr grinned as he nodded.

"Consider it done."

"Thanks, Petr," Harry replied gratefully. "Lestrange, you will be going with Minister Sokolov. I would urge you to cooperate with him. The Russians are not known for their kindness."

"We are not," Petr agreed loudly. "Is this to do with the bastard?"

Harry merely nodded in reply.

"I have three-thousand strong men ready for you to command if you need them," Petr declared. "Say the word, and we will do to them what we did to Grindelwald."

Harry chuckled as he shook his head.

"I appreciate the offer, old friend, but I think we can manage this one."

Petr hummed unhappily.

"Then you will at least accept my help," he said firmly. "We go to war together, Evans. You would insist on being there for me if I was in your position."

"Fine," Harry agreed, eliciting a grin from the Russian.

"Ah, it has been too long since I had a good fight. I look forward to you sending for me," he added, as he took Rudolphus under the armpit and pulled him to his feet.

"Where are you taking me?" Lestrange asked, panicking.

"Tovarisch, you are coming to Russia. I hope you like the cold."

With an unnerving laugh, Petr led the protesting Lestrange from the office, offering Harry and Albus a nod before he closed the door.

"Well, I suppose it solves our problems," the latter sighed. "Lord Lestrange will be furious."

"Lestrange will either be dead, or in Azkaban," Harry pointed out, and Albus could not disagree on the matter.

"The Ministry?" he asked.

"Within the week," Harry reiterated.

Albus could only shake his head.

"How will you prevent it?"

Harry smiled in response.

"Well, we will need to have people within, ready to fight, but we do not want Tom to flee," he explained. "I have an idea for both."

Albus's eyebrows almost disappeared into his headline.

He knew that Harry was a very clever and resourceful man, but there was one pertinent question that was bothering him.

"How will you hide so many in the Ministry?"

"I know a place," Harry answered cryptically. "Now, let's deal with these Horcruxes, shall we? Your office is much worse with them here."

(Break)

His father had come here during his own time of need to drink whiskey and ponder whatever problems were plaguing his mind. William Potter, however, had never faced anything like this.

The man had suspected that Harry was related to them much closer than any would believe, but not even the wiser, former Lord Potter could have comprehended just who Harry Evans was.

Harry Potter.

The man was named for Charlus's own son and was somehow James's son.

It was something Charlus was struggling to get his head around, but he was trying.

Harry had been nothing short of a brother to him from the moment he came into his life.

From the very beginning, it was as though he belonged, that he was a kindred spirit who Charlus gravitated towards, and now he understood why.

They shared kin, blood, and magic.

The Lord Potter released a deep sigh before draining his glass.

He didn't hate Harry, nor did he hold it against him for keeping who he was a secret, it was just so hard to come to terms with.

In the month since had had learned it, much to his shame, he had not visited his friend.

The guilt was there, but somehow, Charlus managed to drink it down night after night as he pondered the horrific life Harry had lived before he came here.

He was pulled from his thoughts by a knock on the study, and Dorea entered, as hopeful as ever but concerned.

"Charlus, you have a visitor," she explained.

She stepped aside and Harry entered, and the guilt Charlus had been feeling surged within him once more.

Harry was his friend, and it felt as though Charlus had merely turned his back on him when all he had ever done was be there for his family.

'Harry's family too,' he reminded himself.

"I'm sorry," Charlus slurred as he attempted to stand only to stagger and for Harry to catch him before he could fall.

"What are you apologising for, you prat?" Harry snorted as he helped him back into his chair. "I didn't expect everything to just be okay."

"But it is okay, isn't it?" Charlus asked. "We're still friends, aren't we?"

"We are," Harry confirmed, "and that's why I'm here. I wouldn't be bothering you if it wasn't important, but there's no one I trust more than you."

"What do you need?" Charlus questioned, Harry's demeanour helping to sober him.

Harry released a deep sigh.

"He's going to attempt to take the Ministry in a couple of days. It wouldn't feel right fighting without you by my side."

"I'll be there," Charlus assured him immediately. "Anytime, anyplace, you know that."

Harry nodded gratefully.

"Then you'd best sober up. Us old bastards will need to be at our best."

Charlus chuckled at Harry's retreating form, though he frowned curiously as Dorea stopped him.

The woman placed a hand on his chest and gave him a wry smile.

"As much as you look like him," she said, nodding towards Charlus. "there's a lot of the Blacks in you too."

She leaned up and kissed him on the cheek, looking at him imploringly.

"Look out for each other," she whispered.

Harry nodded.

"We always do."

Charlus smiled as Harry took his leave of the study and stood, much more steadily this time.

"I think I need some coffee, and a shower," he declared.

Dorea merely rolled her eyes at him, but she smiled too.

Already, Charlus felt better, but now was not the time to relish in the happiness.

There was a war to be fought, and once more, he would stand proudly with his brothers until the very end.

(Break)

There was a tension in the air, a feeling of finality amongst the Death Eaters that were to remain by the Dark Lord's side. The man himself, however, didn't seem to sense it, or if he did, his demeanour was giving nothing away.

"Abraxus is with the Minister, my lord," Rosier informed Voldemort, his voice wavering only slightly.

Voldemort nodded as he seized the man by the arm and pressed his forefinger into the Dark Mark that adorned it.

Rosier hissed in pain, and Voldemort revelled in his discomfort as he sent his instructions to his waiting inner circle

Every conceivable way into the Ministry of Magic was covered and would be flooded by his men in only a matter of moments.

When they were inside, there would be no removing them, not until the Minister personally surrendered to him.

Of course, she would die.

He could not allow any questions to be raised about his rule.

"Is it time, my lord?" Avery questioned eagerly.

"No, we are to wait for the signal."

The plan was for his followers to deal with the reduced auror force quickly, secure any heads of departments that were here at this late hour, and for Abraxus to take the Minister into his custody.

It was a perfect plan, and with the additional hundred or so men he had laying in wait to enter with him, their victory was all but assured.

"Ah, that would be the signal," Voldemort declared as the Dark Mark was shot into the sky.

It was a glorious sight to see it hanging above the Ministry so prominently, and with a smirk tugging at his lips, Lord Voldemort gestured for his men to follow him into the building posing as a public bathroom.

Leading the way as all powerful men did, he flushed himself and found himself passing through one of the many fireplaces a moment later where he was greeted by an even more welcome sight.

Lining the walls were his Death Eaters, and on her knees in front of the famous golden fountain was Minister Jenkins with Abraxus looming over her, his wand jabbed into the back of her neck and a fistful of hair in his other hand.

"Excellent work, Abraxus," the Dark Lord praised, his eyes fixed firmly on the woman. "You know who I am. Of course, you do. Everyone knows who I am by now."

Jenkins said nothing, but her eyes were filled with fear, an emotion that only elicited excitement within Lord Voldemort.

"The Ministry is mine," he said gleefully. "You have lost, Minister. Abraxus, take the Minister back to her office. She will face my judgement soon enough."

Abraxus bowed, and the Dark Lord turned to look at his assembled followers.

Stepping forward, he held his arms out.

"This night will be remembered as our victory, as the night we refused to be cowed, where we proved once and for all that we are the superior witches and wizards."

Those that had accompanied him into the building cheered their approval as he turned his attention towards the fountain.

It stood as a symbol of peace, equality, cooperation, and prosperity between all things magical, a symbol that was built on a lie.

There was no equality, only those that had allowed the illusion of such frivolous things.

"Abraxus, I told you to take the Minister back to her office," the Dark Lord huffed irritably, only to be taken aback as something was rolled in his direction.

His eyes widened at the sight of the severed head of Abraxus Malfoy, the eyes and tongue having been torn out.

When Voldemort looked up, it was to see the man he believed to be his most ardent follower remove his mask, and he found himself staring into a pair of emerald eyes that were ablaze with fury.

"Evans," he whispered in disbelief as he took several steps back.

The Dark Lord could only look on as the Death Eaters lining the walls changed their robes from black to white, and their masks from white to black.

They were surrounded.

"Our portkeys, they don't work!" one of the Death Eaters despaired.

The Dark Lord attempted to apparate away, to no avail, and found himself facing a most undesirable predicament.

How?

How had Evans discovered his plan?

The answer to the many questions he had would have to wait.

Evans was here for one reason only, and as the man slid his wand into his hand, the Dark Lord followed suit.

"Kill them!" Evans commanded coldly.